


In which two awkward people utterly FAIL to flirt properly

by Eris18



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris18/pseuds/Eris18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Chadara's fault, at first. And then Mira was just sneaky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which two awkward people utterly FAIL to flirt properly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiitos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiitos/gifts).



> 1k+ words of college AU in which everyone except Mira totally doesn't play it cool at all.
> 
> Welp.
> 
> This is what Kitty asked for XD

It wasn’t even his kind of music. Who even listened to “college rock”? If Chadara hadn’t been trying to bang the drummer of one of the supporting bands, Nasir wouldn’t even be here.

At least he had his sketchbook; he sighed as he doodled various people in the crowd - anyone who caught his fancy or looked interesting, anyway.

The band on stage finished, and Chadara ran off to find Rhaskos or whatever his name was. Nasir sipped at his drink and carried on sketching.

He didn’t really look up until Servile War, the headline band, came on. Chadara still wasn’t back. Nasir hoped she was having fun, as he watched the door to backstage open. He hoped she was enjoying herself back there with her...

And then.

He just.

Could not breathe.

A vision of semi-spiked dirty blond hair, Metallica t-shirt, and eyeliner stepped out, scowling and picking up the guitar.

Nasir’s fingers twitched; he started sketching almost before he realised what he was doing. The man was beautiful - this sight had to be preserved.

He barely heard the music, he was so lost in thought and in action. He didn’t even realise the set had ended until he heard a voice say,

“You’re good at art.”

He looked up, and there was his subject, his god.

“...Yeah,” he replied, putting his sketchbook down.

“You an art student, then?...Wait. Of course you are. Sorry. No. Wait. Are you?”

Nasir snorted; what. He _never_ snorted.

“I am,” he smiled, putting out a hand. “Nasir.”

“Agron,” and ohgod that grip was firm imagine being manhandled by that grip or having it on top and being ridden as those thighs flexed... “So you heard us play? It’s only our third gig together.”

“Uh...yes,” Nasir whispered, feeling ridiculously awkward, especially given the length of the pause following his reply.

“I like your hair,” Agron blurted out, and then blushed. “Sorry, just, it’s long and soft-looking and reminds me of Naevia’s before she cut it...”

“Thanks...?” So maybe his god was flawed. A demi-god, then.

“...I was going to come over here and be so smooth,” Agron muttered, apparently a bit too loudly to be aimed just at himself. “But nooooo, Agron. Just ask the guy with the sketchbook if he does art and then say his hair reminds you of someone else _jeez_...”

Nasir chuckled, snorting again. Great, now Agron would think that he was laughing at him oh gods...

Chadara suddenly appeared, her eyes a lot brighter and a distinct spring in her step.

“Nasir!” she squeals happily, hugging him. “Are you done? Let’s go. Rhaskos snuck us some vodka and we have a party to go to this weekend and oooh hello big tall blond man who are you?”

...Of course it got slightly worse. Agron apparently couldn’t get away quick enough after that, and Nasir found himself sighing as the _love of his life_ walked away.

“Agron,” he sighed; he opened his sketchbook and shaded a bit more stubble on that gorgeous chin.

*-*-*-*-*

Three weeks passed; Mira had dragged Nasir along to a poetry night. Tonight, Wordsworth.

Nasir liked Wordsworth. It was easy to illustrate in his mind and, as the speakers read the poems aloud, he found himself sketching the worlds described with words. 

Mira was nodding, paying attention and offering interpretation; she was _so_ going to be a Lit major once she chose, no matter how much she said she wanted to go into politics.

“Daffodils,” a voice popped up over his shoulder.

Nasir looked up...and straight into Agron’s blue, blue eyes. He hadn’t forgotten this man. Something about Agron had stuck with him, and a few more sketches had appeared in his book.

“Daffodils,” Agron repeated. Nasir blinked - ah. Right. Conversation. Normal human beings have conversations.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Wordsworth.”

“I know,” Agron grinned. “I was there. You know Mira? We were in the same English class for a semester.”

“Ah,” Nasir nodded. “...Poetry?”

“...Because I look like a tough guy, right?” Agron laughed. “I don’t know, I just...Rochester’s good, too. ‘My Light Thou Art’ and all that. And some of his bawdier stuff is really funny...I’ll shut up now.”

“No, no, carry on!” Nasir was fascinated; he might need to sketch Agron again soon.

And so they spoke at length, keeping to favourite poets, and then music; Agron was full of even more surprises, apparently being an expert in different genres of jazz as well as poetry.

“It really inspires my music...what’s that thing you do with your fingers?” Agron asked, nodding to Nasir’s hands.  
Nasir blushed; how was he meant to explain the weirdest twitch in history?

“...Shouldn’t have asked,” Agron said. “Sorry. Too personal? I’ll stop I...”

“It’s fine,” Nasir smiled.

“Can I take a look?” Agron gestured to the sketchbook. Nasir nodded, so Agron picked it up and flicked through. “Fuck me from behind!”

“That an offer?” Nasir’s response left his mouth before his brain could process it. “Uh, I mean...”

But Agron was already blushing and putting the sketchbook back down rather, going back to Rochester’s poetry.

It took another ten minutes of stilted conversation about flowers and Signor Dildo (and didn’t _that_ bring up images in Nasir’s addled mind?) before Mira appeared and dragged him off.

He had never been so grateful to be cockblocked in his entire life.

*-*-*-*-*

“Why are you even worried?” Mira rolled up her cigarette and sipped at her espresso: apparently, she was ‘channeling the French Resistance’ today.

“I just...he knows all this stuff and I just sit there with my fingers twitching like an idiot!” Nasir wailed, his head buried in his arms as he allowed himself a ‘melodramatic artist’ moment.

Mira chuckled; well, it was more of a ‘hmph’ noise with added derision.

“Relationships,” and she puffed once more, “are merely a societal construct anyway, designed purely to make couples indulge in commercial practices. If this were Ancient Rome, you would claim each other with nothing more than a rag around the wrist or something.”

“...What?”

Mira sighed and pushed a piece of paper across the table. Nasir read it - a phone number.

“Call him, meet up, shag, whatever,” Mira said. “No point whining when you both want it. And I know that because he asked me to give that to you.”

“He-”

“Shh,” Mira placed a finger on his lips. “Just call him. Go. Go now.”

She had a scary look on her face; Nasir thought it best to obey - he ran.

*-*-*-*-*

And so Nasir found himself at another Servile War gig, his fingers itching to draw as Agron worked his guitar like a pro. The crowd loved it, cheering his name and squealing as if they were at some sort of pop concert.

Agron was so beautiful; Nasir just wanted to _touch_ and _feel_ those muscles and his hair and...he bit his lip, trying to calm down.

Agron had seemed surprised that Nasir had called, but had offered drinks after this set, so Nasir couldn’t complain. And now he was watching this beautiful, beautiful man play guitar and cause the urge to draw; pity Nasir had forgotten his sketchbook.

Eventually, the set ended, and the crowd dispersed after a couple of girls managed to get autographs on their chests. Agron smiled at them indulgently as he walked over to Nasir.

“Now stand you on the top of happy hours,” he smiled.

“Huh?”

“Smile, Nasir,” Agron chuckled. “At least pretend you enjoyed yourself?”

“Sorry, just...” Nasir sighed, smiling. “I forgot my sketchbook. You...you make my fingers itch to draw.”

“You make me recite Shakespearean sonnets,” Agron shrugged. “I kind of figured what the twitch was. By which I mean I asked Mira. I just wanted to know everything about you because I really like you and I just want to _kiss_ you but I’m not sure if you like me back and this whole thing just makes me feel like a really dorky teenager...How did you get my number, by the way?”

“How did I..?” Nasir was confused. “Mira said...oh.”

“Oh.”

“...So...you like me?” Nasir grinned. Agron blushed and nodded. “Well. That’s good. Means I can do this.”

And he pulled Agron down for a long kiss, not stopping until he absolutely had to breathe again.

“Mein Gott!” Agron whispered, panting slightly.

“You know _German_?” Nasir asked.

“Long story,” Agron grinned, pressing his lips to Nasir’s again.


End file.
